


makeup

by emilywolf



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 16:52:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilywolf/pseuds/emilywolf
Summary: Evan looked nice in makeup. Well, he looked alright, which was better than his painfully average face, but it was different and enough to make him forget he was him.“Damn, Hansen!”“For the first time ever, Connor is right. You look really nice, Evan,” Zoe says, and Evan hopes there’s something smeared on his face to make him look like he’s not bright red from the compliments.“Oh, uh, thanks, it’s my face,” he said. Good going Evan, that’s what people say. Of course it’s your face. That's where makeup goes.





	makeup

**Author's Note:**

> fun little drabble... you can take messy nail connor from my cold dead (messily painted) hands

“You’re not, uh, very good at this. No, no offense! Just, uh, an observation.”

Connor looked up from where he was focusing on Evan’s hands, giving him a  _ no shit Hansen _ look. It’s a look aimed at him often, or maybe he can just read Connor’s face really well at this point. Connor huffed at him.

“I said I could paint your nails, not that I could do it well.” Connor smeared more polish on Evan’s pointer finger, getting half of it on his cuticles. “I literally don’t care enough to like, not.”

Evan’s fingers itched to pick pick pick at the polish not on his nails, but his hand was currently resting on Connor Murphy’s jeans, and that was nicer than having it  _ not _ on there. The nail polish was a nice, holographic blue, one that Evan had never seen him actually wear. Connor’s palette was all dark and muted: black, purple, maroon. Maybe this was Zoe’s. Maybe he bought it specifically for him.

The thought made Evan flush, equal parts affection and embarrassment. There was a taste of the “Connor Murphy thinks of me and decided he would get a polish he thought suited me” anxiety that made his face red and his hands sweating, and a dollop of “oh no oh god someone’s wasted money on me and I don’t deserve it” anxiety that made his stomach drop and his hands clammy. So, right now, he was sweating and clammy and flushed and feeling a little nauseous. Yuck.

“Evan.” Connor didn’t look up, just kept painting. “Stop.”

Evan flushed again. Connor was good at reading his face too.

There was quiet. Connor finished coat two, and continued holding Evan’s hand on his leg. The silence was nice. This was Evan’s favorite thing-- there wasn’t the smalltalk that they both hated, just a comfortable quiet with someone who  _ got it _ .

They were sitting on the ground in Connor’s room. Connor had called a rendezvous, Evan chewed his nails down to stubs in worry on his way, Connor gave him the look that said  _ I can’t control your coping but maybe don’t do that _ that made Evan even more anxious, so Connor pulled his hands onto his lap and pulled out a bottle of nail polish.

Evan leaned back into his bed and closed his eyes. This was nice. “Thanks for, uh, letting me come over.”

“I invited you.” Connor’s voice was flat.

“Yeah, but it’s nice to know that like, you want me to be here I guess?” Evan reached to fiddle with his polo collar, put stopped when Connor grabbed at his wrist.

“Nails aren’t dry.” Evan slackened his arm, but Connor’s hand remained around his wrist. “You really need to get out of your fucking head, Hansen.” Could Connor feel his pulse rapidening? Because it was. His heart was pumping overtime. There was a noise of surprise from the doorway, and Connor swung his head so fast it looked like he was going to get whiplash. Standing in the doorway was Zoe.

“Oh my god, did you do his nails?” Evan looked up to see Zoe glaring at Connor. “I recognize your handiwork.”

“Handiwork,” Connor snickered. Zoe continued a glare, and he rolled his eyes. “Yes, I did. He can’t exactly do it himself.”

“He  _ could _ ,”

“Yeah, with a dead hand?”

“It’s not  _ dead _ , idiot, it’s just broken!”

They continued bickering, and Evan shrank down. They’d been doing better, together, but it was still upsetting to see them start fighting the minute the minute they were in the same house. Fighting wasn’t the right word, actually. There wasn’t any venom behind the words-- Evan imagined this was what siblings were like. Probably. Right?

“Right, Evan?” Zoe’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, but dropped him into the panic zone. What’d she say? She was asking for agreement, he should say yes, cause  _ obviously _ she’d hate him forever if not.

“Yeah,” Evan said, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt. Zoe smiled at him and grabbed his hand and-- wait what.

Zoe was holding his hand. Not in like, a romantic way, cause her hand was completely wrapped around his and he might feel unmasculine if it weren’t for the fact a pretty girl he’d had a crush on all junior year was grabbing his hand of her own free accord.

Evan shot Connor a panicked look. Connor gave him a smirk (and damn these Murphys, he’s going to die of heart failure at the age of 25), stuck his hands in his pockets, and followed the duo up to Zoe’s room.

Zoe’s room. He didn’t really get to take in the view, because he was pushed down into a swiveling chair and spun to face a vanity mirror. Oh. That’s what he looked like. Hello, Evan Hansen! You’re in a weird version of hell where Zoe’s got her hands on your shoulders and hair touching the back of your neck and Connor’s in the background with a smirk that could only be described as roguish and sexy! 

Then oh, okay, Zoe’s touching his face and moving his face around and Connor’s coming up and staring intently at his face, and while they’re talking about something that sounds mostly like buzzing Evan’s trying to pull at the front of his shirt, but Connor takes his wrist and holds it up, and he’s saying something, and Evan’s just staring.

“Hansen.” Evan jumped. “Chill out. Zoe, shouldn’t you clean up his nails? ‘Cause you’re just gonna bitch about it when I do it my way.”

“That’s ‘cause your way is to dump a bottle of nail polish in the general direction of your hand.”

“That’s cause your way is to dump a bottle on your hands,” Connor sneered. Zoe rolled her eyes but took Evan’s hand, and Connor grabbed his chin roughly and pulled his head towards him and  _ that  _ was going to be a reoccurring daydream. Connor was looking him up and down, and nodding.

“I’ve decided what I’m going to do with him.”

“And that is?”

“Eyeliner. Literally the only thing I know how to do.”

“You’re hopeless,” Zoe tells him, but there’s something underneath it that Evan assumes might be  _ I’ll teach you _ or  _ I’ll show you _ or something like that. He’s starting to get fluent in Murphy voice tones and subtle looks. “At least do some contouring.”

“I don’t need contouring, Zoe, I’ve got cheekbones  like a drug addict.”

“Yeah, I wonder why.” There was a beat of silence.  _ Too far _ , said the stiffening of Connor’s shoulders,  _ too far,  _ said the drop in Zoe’s face,  _ too far _ , said the way Evan desperately didn’t want to be there.

“Hey so what did I agree to anyway?” Evan rushed. His hand was twitching in an uncouth manner in Zoe’s hand, his eyes darting and avoiding Connor’s glance.

“We’re doing your makeup, dummy,” Zoe said, and then Connor was making him flinch to shut his eyes, and Evan slid down in the chair to accept his fate: death. Cause of death: Murphy siblings.

 


End file.
